Purpose, Part II
by LDaemon
Summary: The trio has left Hogwarts in search of Horcruxes. Severus' trust has been broken, both by Dumbledore and Hermione. As the war escalates, can Hermione and Severus reconcile? What of the Order? Will the Light win? "Purpose, Part I" should be read first
1. Foul is Fair

***Peeks around corner* Hi... I have a lot of nerve showing my face around here, right?... I promised to have the story up in Feb/March and here we are, nearly in May and ... nada :( Also, I had the temerity to start Victory only to abandon it ... I fear that story is on hiatus...  
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**Here's the deal.. Mega changes on the home front since the start of the year.. I quit my job and decided to pursue writing; consequently I have two original pieces that I'm working on (going on 30k words for one and about 16k on the other) so that is where all my time and attention has been.  
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**I've decided to go ahead and start posting Purpose Part II. I'm about four chapters deep now and have an outline to chapter ten, so it will be a bit "fly by the seat of my pants", but I truly appreciate all your reviews and encouragement and truly hope to see this through to the end.  
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**On with the story!  
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**_Disclaimer: _****Everything you recognize belongs to the inimitable JK Rowling and Co, who are kind enough to allow us to play with her toys. Everything else is mine.** No moneys made, no moneys sought  


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**Chapter 1. Foul is Fair**

A customary sense of melancholy had fallen over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as it did without fail every summer; it was as though the school itself were mourning the loss of the students that filled it with laughter and noise throughout the year. The stones seemed colder somehow than they did even in the midst of winter. The staircases were lethargic, ferrying those remaining in residence about the castle with an uncharacteristic reluctance and lack of mischief. The stillness that permeated the corridors was unnatural and eerie. Even the Hogwarts ghosts were down in the mouth, floating through the hallways in a kind of somber and sluggish fashion.

Severus Snape registered none of this; summer was generally his most pleasing time, with the castle empty of dunderheads and his days his own to do with as he pleased. Summer was usually when the potions master was at his most genial.

Not so this particular summer, though. As Hogwarts emptied completely of children and the lazy days of summer rolled in, Severus Snape stalked about the castle in a rage the likes of which its denizens had not seen since he'd taken up the post of potions master some twenty years prior. The dark and taciturn professor stormed about the school day and night, hardly speaking a word to anyone - and when he did, the words were so nasty one would end up wishing he'd said nothing at all - and spending the vast majority of his time sequestered in his personal laboratory.

Yes, Severus Snape was in a foul way and none of the school's residents could puzzle out the reason.

One would think that Dumbledore, omnipresent wizard that he was, would have some idea as to what had rankled the potions master so severely; but if he did, he gave no indication of it. Indeed, the relationship between the headmaster and professor seemed to have cooled to a degree that the castle's residents had not seen in quite some time. Professor Snape, while certainly never friendly or even courteous to the headmaster, always maintained a degree of respectfulness in his tone and tolerance for the old wizard's oddities when dealing with him. But the last few weeks had seen the interactions between the two degenerate to monosyllabic responses and indicative grunts rather than actual discourse.

It seemed, both to the castle and its residents, that a particularly odd summer was looming.

* * *

He was keeping something from him. The doddering old fool was keeping something from him and Severus - for the life of him - could not discern what it could be.

For two weeks now, the headmaster had avoided Severus like the plague, ignoring him at meals, rushing him through meetings, vacating any room Snape happened to wander into.

It was maddening, not to mention highly insulting.

He was quite sure the headmaster had at least some idea of where the Boy-Who-Lived and his sidekicks had gone, but he insisted on diverting and derailing any efforts on Snape's part to get him to divulge the information. And when Severus played the Voldemort card, telling Dumbledore that he had to have something to tell the Dark Lord when asked about the boy, he was counseled to tell the truth - that the headmaster had not informed him of the boy's plans, indeed that _he_ did not know of his plans. Dumbledore did not seem concerned as to whether such an answer would result in punishment for the potions master or not, telling Severus - unconvincingly - that Voldemort would see the truthfulness of the words and could not possibly fault Severus for Dumbledore's secrecy.

It was a statement which more often than not sent Snape into a blind rage. And he would storm out of the headmaster's office without another word.

Severus told himself he was only curious of the Golden Trio's whereabouts given how it related to his dealings with Voldemort.

He assiduously told himself it was not because he worried about her.

It was not because he missed her.

Certainly not.

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Tossing all lingering thoughts of the girl and her cohorts from his mind, Severus made his way up the garishly decorated Malfoy courtyard, somehow resisting the urge to hex those blasted swans that persisted in strutting about in a manner far too reminiscent of their owner. He silently ascended the stone steps, strode through the large, ostentatious doors, down the ornate hallway and into the meeting room the Dark Lord had commandeered.

Their leader had opted to take up residence at Malfoy Manor sometime back; Snape was sure it was retribution for Lucius' blunder at the Department of Mysteries, a blunder he persisted in trying to pay down in the most sycophantic manner possible. He'd opened his home to the Dark Lord, despite Narcissa's clear discomfort, and catered to the madman's every whim in an effort to erase that colossal failure from his record.

Snape felt a dark scowl alight on his face when he caught sight of Draco Malfoy, chest puffed out, trying - and failing - to look as though everything about the situation did not utterly terrify him. It was the first time the fresh Hogwarts graduate had joined the proceedings with his parents, having been hidden away - no doubt by his mother - in other parts of the Manor while the Dark Lord was in residence. _So, he's taken the Mark then_, Snape thought to himself as he inclined his head respectfully towards their leader before taking the only empty seat.

"You're late, Severusss." The Dark Lord's sibilant voice slithered into his ear from the head of the table.

"Forgive me, My Lord," he answered, meeting the wizard's red gaze and giving another respectful nod to his head. "A meeting with Dumbledore," he added by way of an explanation.

"What news of the boy, Severus?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," he responded contritely. "The old man is insistent that Potter has not revealed to him any plans now that he has graduated. He insists he has not spoken to the boy since the Leaving Feast; obviously a lie, but he has told me nothing else," he continued, his blatant annoyance with that fact authentic. "They have grown complacent, My Lord," he continued, meeting their leader's eyes. "Particularly given that there was no customary attack on the boy at the end of the school year."

The Dark Lord's red eyes flashed momentarily at the implied criticism, but said nothing as he rifled quickly through his spy's mind, finding all the conversations in which the headmaster had truly made all those useless statements. Snape did not even have to contrive his sense of indignation at Dumbledore's paranoid secrecy.

"Surely, he would not let the imbecile go wandering off without guidance?" Lucius interjected with an inscrutable grin.

"One would think not," Severus replied, sneering at the blonde across from him.

"No doubt he's taken the Mudblood and blood traitor with him," Bellatrix added with a grimace of distaste.

"Indeed," Severus agreed, his voice bland despite his strong desire to contradict the comment.

"Your attempts with the Mudblood were unsuccessful, were they not, Draco?" the Dark Lord hissed at the young blonde, who turned to him with a wary look on his face, grey eyes flicking between their leader and his father.

Snape schooled his features to a look of indifference, keeping his eyes on the Dark Lord who didn't wait for a response from the boy, simply giving a cruel laugh before turning his attention to Yaxley who sat at the other end of the table. "The Trace on the boy will expire in under a month," he said. "How are your efforts proceeding at the Ministry?"

"Things are moving quickly, My Lord," Yaxley drawled confidently in reply. "As you know, there are many who covertly promote and support our cause. I believe I will be able to take control of Thicknesse soon, once all our men are in place in the various departments I've assigned them to."

"_Very soon_, Yaxley," he corrected, red eyes boring into the wizard. "I want access to the Trace well before the 31st. If we have the Trace, we have the boy," he stressed, fierce glare passing over each and every Death Eater present.

"Of course, My Lord," Yaxley responded with an incline of his head.

"Do not fail me," he warned, his gaze traveling the length of the table anew. "Do not fail me and Potter will not live to see his next birthday."


	2. In Chase of the Trace

******_Disclaimer: _****Everything you recognize belongs to the inimitable JK Rowling and Co, who are kind enough to allow us to play with her toys. Everything else is mine.** No moneys made, no moneys sought  


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**Chapter 2: In Chase of the Trace**

Severus was quiet as he made his way through the halls of Hogwarts that night, trying and failing - yet again - to keep the girl from his thoughts. It was a losing battle; he thought about the witch far too often. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, whether she was ill or injured. He wondered so many varied things it was surprising he was capable of even functioning properly.

His anger at her ebbed and flowed as time went on; he vacillated between injury that yet another witch had chosen a Potter over him and begrudging understanding that she'd done exactly what she'd told him she would. Hadn't she said, that day in the library, that she would stand with Potter, _fight_ with Potter, until this war was over? She'd practically told him she was leaving and he'd stupidly chosen not to push her, not to compel her to tell him of her plans.

The witch did awful things to him, he realized as he ascended the stairs to the headmaster's office. She dulled his senses and slowed his reflexes in a highly troubling manner.

Perhaps it was for the best that she was gone.

Snape snarled the password, giving little more than a sharp rap of his knuckles against the headmaster's door before pushing in.

"Severus," the old wizard greeted him. He was seated in his large leather wing-back chair, gazing thoughtfully into the fire.

"Albus," he replied, slipping into the chair opposite the headmaster's wide desk.

"The meeting went well, I take it?" he asked, turning his full attention to his spy, blue eyes assessing him for signs of injury.

"I suppose," the potions master answered, shaking his head sharply at the proffered lemon-drop. "They are moving against the Ministry."

"Yes, so you said. How are they progressing?"

"Quite well, if Yaxley is to be believed," he replied, folding one long leg over the other. "The Dark Lord is adamant that the Ministry should fall before the end of July."

"Before Harry's birthday?" the headmaster clarified.

"He wants control of the Trace; he wishes to use it to locate the boy."

"I see," Dumbledore mused, stroking his long, white beard. "We must keep a special eye on the Improper Use of Magic Office then; it would be Tom's primary target."

"Hmm," the potions master agreed. "It seems they aim to put Travers in charge of it, if they are successful."

"Yes, well, we mustn't allow that to happen," he replied. "I will speak with Kingsley and Moody about protecting the office more fully."

"They are still shadowing Scrimgeour?"

"One or the other is almost always with him; however, they can surely place outer Order members within the Improper Use of Magic Office to keep an eye on things."

Severus gave a nod of his head at that while Dumbledore adopted a pensive look.

"Regarding the Trace, Harry has been cited for underage magic before," he commented with an optimistic gleam in his eyes. "I'm sure he will not be so foolish as to use magic before the Trace breaks."

"You overestimate that boy's intelligence far too much," Snape said snidely. "In any case, Potter does not have to be the one to employ magic." The headmaster's brows furrowed at that. "It is enough for magic to be used in his vicinity, Albus; the Trace on the boy will pick up any activity or magical signatures in his area."

Dumbledore's eyes widened at the implication, clearly having forgotten that bit of Ministry protocol. Without responding to Severus' words, he leaned forward in his seat and scribbled on a bit of parchment. He folded it carefully, magically sealing it, and moved towards the perch where his phoenix sat. Stroking his familiar once with a murmur, he allowed Fawkes to grasp the parchment in his beak. The bird immediately spread its bright red and orange wings and flew out the window, vanishing rapidly into the dark sky. Severus felt a stab of envy that the phoenix should so easily be able to find the girl.

"That's your solution?" he asked sarcastically when the headmaster had seated himself again, "to write them a note?"

"What do suggest, Severus?"

"They should not be on their own, Albus," he snarled, standing up and pacing the old wizard's office, ignoring the tittering of the portraits who always objected to his displays of insolence. "They are little more than children! You should be protecting them, guiding them, not allowing them to scamper off on their own to Merlin-knows where!"

"What would you have me do, chain them to the castle?"

It seemed like a perfectly reasonable option to Severus, but he merely sneered at the headmaster and kept pacing. "Where are they?" he asked again.

"I truly do not know, Severus. That information is not safe for anyone to have at the moment."

"But your blasted phoenix can find them?" he hissed, gesturing sharply to the bird's perch.

"Fawkes has many uses," Dumbledore replied evasively, gazing out his window.

The potions master huffed in response to the wizard's unruffled demeanor, continuing to pace the headmaster's floor, increasingly annoyed by Dumbledore's tactics.

"You are staking a great deal on that boy," Severus commented after a time.

"He is our only hope, as you well know."

"So you continue to tell me," he sneered in reply. "However, that is not to say that he must _be_ on his own, Albus." He turned to the headmaster, pausing in his pacing. "We should be doing more to assist him in this," he reiterated.

"Harry is clear on his mission," the old wizard answered. "And for the time being, he is in the safest possible position, with no one knowing his present location or tracking his movements. Don't misunderstand me, Severus," he cautioned. "I am doing everything in my power to assist him towards his goal, even if it does not seem like much at the moment."

"And what is that goal?"

Severus knew that the boy had to be on some mission; the fight against the Dark Lord was far from over, clearly the boy would be executing some sort of plan towards that end although evidently Dumbledore did not see fit to include his spy in the planning or execution of it.

"That is between myself and Harry."

"And his two sidekicks, no doubt," he snarled in reply.

"He does tend to confide in them," the headmaster conceded, shuffling some loose parchment on his desk.

"You aren't going to tell me any more than this."

"I'm afraid I cannot, Severus," he replied, gazing up at him with an expressionless look. "Not at the moment in any case."

The potions master nodded, that familiar ire building in his gut; how long would he be a mere pawn in the headmaster's game? What had he done to precipitate this coldness and apparent distrust from Dumbledore? He had uses; he had uses beyond ferrying information to the Order about the Dark Lord, his plans and movements. He could contribute to Dumbledore's plans, suggest options, undertake actions to further their aims. And yet the headmaster persisted in keeping him in the dark, his reasons and justifications inscrutable.

But Severus said no more, merely giving a firm nod of his head, and vacated the office without another word.

* * *

Four hundred kilometers away, deep in the bowels of Kielder Forest, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley startled as a loud shriek broke through their otherwise impenetrable wards. Dumbledore's phoenix always announced itself with a ferocious sound that never failed to alarm the trio. Ron dropped the radio he'd been fiddling with while Harry's Seeker instincts kicked in as he reached up and caught the note fluttering down over his head. He wished the bird would show itself at some point, but they never saw it. They would hear an unholy shriek, which sounded suspiciously like a battle cry, look up and find whatever the phoenix had brought them falling through the boundaries of their wards.

Harry broke open the headmaster's magical seal, unfolding the note as Ron stood at his side, the hair rising on the back of his neck as he took in the words scribbled across the parchment:

_'Trace active. Limit all magic. Keep moving.'_

"Trace," Harry repeated, dark brows furrowing behind his glasses.

"Bloody hell!" Ron swore, immediately turning around and beginning to toss things into the tent, manically putting out the fire they had going. "We didn't even think of the Trace!"

"The Trace," Harry said again, his mind going over the implications as he watched his friend's frantic movements.

"Yes, the Trace!" he shouted back at him, diving into the tent where Harry could hear more shuffling and clanging sounds. "Don't just stand there, Harry! Help me! We have to pack. We have to leave as soon as Hermione gets back."

"But I haven't used any magic," he argued, following his friend into their tent, watching dumbly as he went about shrinking things.

"It doesn't matter!" Ron exclaimed, fighting to get the table to fold itself back down into the tiny square Hermione had produced from her bag. "You don't need to do magic to activate the Trace. It will pick up my magic and Hermione's magic! They can find you that way."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked in alarm, turning back towards the tent opening, as though Snatchers were at that moment appearing in their wards. Wards! "The wards will protect us," he added hopefully.

"We don't know that for sure," Ron argued. "The Snatchers are dim, but who knows what the Death Eaters can do."

They'd been hearing for weeks, over the radio, about the Snatchers that were operating in magical communities across the kingdom. They were little more than gangs of thugs, but the Death Eaters encouraged and rewarded their activities in inciting fear among the population, specifically Muggleborns, whom they'd been kidnapping for the Dark Lord and his followers to torture and victimize. Voldemort had been building an atmosphere of fear and tension among the populace over the last few weeks; his lack of attack at the end of the trio's time at Hogwarts kept everyone in a state of constant apprehension. And the activities of his followers, from Death Eaters to Snatchers, had only served to build and heighten that sense of terror, that feeling that something ominous was coming.

Recognizing the full implications of Ron's words, Harry manically began packing up as well, tossing food and kitchenware into sacks and stuffing clothes and bedding into trunks while Ron tried to fold down the beds, tables and chairs.

Hermione returned from patrolling the perimeters of their wards, strengthening and reinforcing the protections they had in place, to find the tent in utter disarray. The boys were running around frantically, magically shrinking various items and attempting to stuff them into their containers. They were shouting back and forth as they ran about, giving each other orders and reminders to make sure they got 'this' and didn't forget to pack 'that'. Hermione stood at the door of the tent, her arms full of berries, fruit and edible plants she'd found, watching them with a curious expression on her face as she tried to puzzle out what they were on about.

"What are you doing?" she finally asked.

The boys turned to her as one, looking like a pair of deer caught in headlights. They immediately began talking over one another as they tried to explain what was happening.

"Hermione!" Ron cried. "Come on! You can finish folding the tables."

"Help us pack! Quickly," Harry added on top of him.

"Why?"

"We need to leave!" Ron said, looking exasperated by the fact that she hadn't moved.

"We can't stay here any longer," Harry replied at the same time.

"Why?" she repeated.

Again, Ron and Harry answered at the same time.

"No time to explain."

"Fawkes brought a note from Dumbledore! The Trace. It's still active."

"So?" she asked, brows furrowing as she watched them carry on packing.

"So!" Harry exclaimed. "They can find me! They can find us!"

"But-"

"It will track him through us, Hermione!" Ron explained. "He doesn't need to be the one to use magic-"

"Any magic around me can be traced."

"I'm sure of it," the redhead added. "Now, hurry up and help us; we need to go."

"Oh," she said, finally grasping what they were worried about. "No, guys." She stepped into the tent, trying to catch their attention. "Guys? Calm down. Everything's fine."

"Fine?" Harry repeated. "Haven't you been listening to us?"

"Come on, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed impatiently, slinging two backpacks over each of his shoulders. "Let's move!"

"Okay, calm down for a minute and let me explain," she said again, waiting for them to stop moving about and give her their full attention before continuing. "I wondered about the Trace. I wondered about it before we left Hogwarts, especially after what happened before fifth year, Harry," she added, turning her gaze on the green-eyed wizard. "I wondered whether they would be able to use the Trace to find you after we left the castle. I researched it and Ron's right about the Ministry being able to use our magical signatures to track you down, even if you don't do any magic. Hold on, Ron!" she admonished the redhead, who'd started bustling about again when she'd acknowledged the accuracy of his statement.

"I found a spell," she continued when both boys had turned their attention back to her. "I found a spell; it's like a suppressing spell and it creates a kind of magical static charge which obscures everything from magical signatures to Apparition tracers. I modified it slightly to gear it towards suppressing the under-age magic Trace that the Ministry employs." A profound look of relief lit the boys' faces at this, the tension seeming to drain out of Harry in one go. "I think it works," she went on. "There's no way to test it, obviously, but even if it doesn't, I've been clearing Ron and my magical signatures no matter where we are."

"What do you mean 'clearing' them?" Ron asked with a puzzled expression.

"There's a spell," she replied. "_Erado Praecantatio_, which can remove magical abilities or characteristics from certain objects. I constructed a Charm out of it; the incantation is _Erado Vestigia Medeis_. What it does is eradicate a person's unique magical signature or energy from an area or location, so the Trace wouldn't have anything to pick up."

"Are you sure it works?" Harry asked.

"We haven't been found yet," she replied with a slight sniff, moving towards the table that Ron had brought to its knees. She shuffled the fruit and berries into one arm, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her wand. She flicked it at the table, bringing it upright once more.

"That's brilliant, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, an expression of awe on his freckled face.

"It really is, Hermione," Harry added, coming up and giving her a squeeze.

She chuckled at them and deposited her findings onto the table, taking a seat and shaking her head indulgently as she watched them shuffle around, trying to put the tent back into some semblance of order.

"I don't suppose Fawkes showed himself?" she asked sarcastically as she began sifting through the fruits and berries, separating them into various groups so they could be cleaned.

"No. Didn't see him," Ron said.

"Pity... We could have sent a note back so they wouldn't worry," she replied, wondering if Severus was aware of their communication with the headmaster.

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**A/N Coming up: A lead on a Horcrux, the trio returns to Grimmauld, and where in the world is Remus? :)**


	3. In the Wild

**A/N Huge thank you to everyone that has reviewed! You guys are awesome! I may not get to reply to every review, but they are all read and MUCH appreciated! **

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**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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**Chapter 3: In the Wild**

The days had started to bleed, one into the other, to the point where Hermione was no longer sure what day of the week - or month for that matter - it was. It seemed as though they'd been out there for years on end, moving from campground to campground, forest to village in a kind of scatter plot pattern across the country. Sometimes they would only stay the night in whatever location they'd found, and other times they'd manage to remain in place for a few days before needing to move on.

They walked a lot, preferring it to constant Apparition which tended to drain them. They would joint-Apparate to a new location and then walk for several kilometers in some random direction until they found a suitable outcropping or meadow or patch of land to settle on. They alternated between hugging the coasts and moving deeper into the inland forests, stopping in at the Peak District for several days before circling back around to the coast. As time went on though, they began excluding coastal towns from their Apparition points, focusing more on inland and forest areas. The ocean spray was far too brutal, hammering its salty gusts against their tent, preventing any of them from sleeping and placing them all in decidedly sour moods.

It must have been late summer by that point; they periodically received the Daily Prophet, dropped within their wards, and the last one had been dated in early August and that had been at least two weeks prior. There was a subtle, but telling, shift in the weather as well; the days had gotten a tad more forgiving, with a cool breeze blowing in from the North when the sun went down. Yes, it was probably late summer, Hermione thought, looking down from the clear blue sky to the leaves and berries she was in the process of examining, comparing them to the illustrations in the nature book she'd pilfered from the library before they'd left the school.

The trio were playing odd and ever-changing roles with one another. At times, Harry would be a clear leader, motivating them and going over everything they knew and suspected about Horcruxes, everything they had spoken about with Dumbledore, everything he'd spoken about with Dumbledore whenever they weren't with him. Those were the easiest times; Ron would pick up on Harry's good mood and would be jovial and supportive while Hermione would laugh along sportingly at whatever light teasing they threw her way.

At other times though, Harry would grow petulant, impatient and antsy, insisting that they needed to do something but flit around the countryside wasting time, though he never had any concrete plans on what precisely they ought to be doing and would grow increasingly hot-tempered when they pressed him for specifics. Ron and Hermione would alternate as the Voice of Reason, telling Harry that they couldn't just go barreling into Diagon Alley screaming about Horcruxes, at which point Harry would stalk off in a huff for a few hours before returning to the tent with an apologetic and sheepish look on his face.

Ron was very nearly constantly petulant; he was accustomed to comfort, security and three steady meals a day. Not that Hermione and Harry were used to hardship per say, but they seemed better able to tolerate the almost constant hunger they were in while Ron handled it by whinging almost constantly about the lack of food. They'd packed non-perishables with them before leaving the school, but Hermione rationed them as much as she could, not knowing how long they'd be in the wilderness. Upon passing through small villages, they would sometimes steal a few fresh eggs from a chicken coop or Accio a loaf of bread from a windowsill, but those occurrences were rare and far between. Mostly they subsisted on fish they managed to catch from the odd stream, the occasional snack from Hermione's beaded bag of provisions in addition to the plants and small fruits that they found and were deemed edible by way of her nature book.

For her part, Hermione simply tried to hold them together as best she could, taking on the role of mother hen, confidant and therapist all rolled into one. She reassured Harry as much as she could, trying to keep him from running off to do something foolish. She placated him when he was in his more difficult dispositions, keeping quiet when Ron tried to lighten his mood with talk of Quidditch or offers of a game of chess. She tolerated Ron's unintentional barbs at her cooking skills - or lack thereof.

And she desperately tried not to think of Severus.

The dark wizard was nearly always on her mind. At times, she would wake in the morning thinking she was back at Hogwarts and get a momentary thrill of excitement at the thought of seeing him, only for her stomach to plummet to her toes when she looked around and realized where she was. She would think of him at odd intervals during the day, when she was picking plants and berries, or patrolling the perimeter of their wards, or when she was seated before the fire, nodding along absentmindedly as Harry listed the possible Horcruxes again and where they might find them.

And at night, it must be said that most of Hermione's nighttime thoughts revolved around the wizard; shutting her eyes against the images that continuously assailed her, she'd bury her head beneath her pillow, trying valiantly to beat back her memories of that night. But the recollections would not let her be, and she would always fall asleep to thoughts of his hands, his lips, the feel of him stretching and filling her so beautifully, his warm breath on her skin, his tongue dipping into her. Hermione was quite sure she was driving herself mad with these nocturnal reminisces, but she seemed unable to stop, simultaneously courting them and trying to banish them from her mind.

It was maddening... and she missed him with an ache so acute, it threatened to consume her.

The boys were too distracted by their own concerns to notice anything amiss in Hermione, and she allowed them to think that her long silences and distraction were due to thoughts of the Horcruxes and this seemingly-futile mission of theirs instead of the dark wizard with the unfathomable eyes.

* * *

_"The Ministry has fallen."_

Those four terrifying words were the first to come through the radio Ron was fiddling with. The wireless had been dropped into their wards by Fawkes a few weeks back along with a note that had simply read '_Griffin_'. Turning it on with a tap of their wands, while saying the apparent password, unlocked the device and brought the familiar voices of Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins streaming through. The broadcasts were fairly regular, with one or all of them trying to get on the air at least once a week and the trio quickly began relying on it for any news of home.

It had been nearly two months since they'd heard from Dumbledore, with nothing but the odd bundle of provisions and copy of the Prophet dropped into their wards. They'd continued moving about the country; they'd visited several magical communities which might have held special interest for Voldemort, the town where his orphanage had been, various villages that he'd been through during his life. They even risked a trip to Little Hangleton to verify whether the Ring had been the only Horcrux hidden there.

And nothing. They'd found an infinite deal of nothing no matter where they looked.

Harry had been nearing a point of forcing contact with the headmaster; Dumbledore had counseled them to wait for word from him rather than initiate contact on their own. But two months of silence was one of the longer stretches of time they'd had without hearing from him. Ron had taken to obsessively tuning into the radio and the subversive broadcasting that had been initiated to combat the increasing propaganda the Ministry had been putting out in recent weeks. The sporadic Daily Prophets were no help at all, remaining unusually silent on Ministry goings-on, but the pirate radio - Potterwatch - had indicated that the tide at the Ministry seemed to be turning against them.

However, even the underground news they'd been receiving was rare, far-between and - for the most part - unimportant. The war had seemed to be at an impasse, with nothing but the standard news reports about kidnapped Muggleborns and Diagon Alley muggings.

The false sense of complacency made the abrupt news flash all the more shocking.

Ron beat the side of the box, struggling to clear the static from it so they could hear more clearly.

_"You heard that right, I'm afraid," Lee's voice came through the wire, sounding graver than they'd ever heard him. "We have Royal here with the details. Royal?"_

_"Thank you, River," Kingsley replied, using Lee's codename. His low baritone rumbled through the wireless, the steady cadence both comforting and unnerving. "It is with a heavy heart that I report to you that the Ministry of Magic has fallen into the hands of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters."_

_Hermione gasped in shock, clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes widening as she stared at Harry who was glaring at the little wireless placed on the table between them. Ron kept the device cradled in his hands as though preparing to strike it should the signal begin to fade._

_"Rufus Scrimgeour is dead, not resigned as the Prophet would have you believe." His voice dropped into a growl at that. "Pius Thicknesse has been named as the new Minister for Magic. Although we do believe him to be under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Matters at the Ministry have been on precarious footing for some time now, as most of you know. We have made every effort to retain control of the most pertinent departments, but the Death Eaters managed to infiltrate nearly each one and executed a silent coup two nights back. Nevertheless, several of us have retained our posts in the Ministry and will be working against the Dark Lord from within."_

_"Well, at least we still have some people on the inside," Lee replied._

_"Indeed, we do."_

_"And what advice do you have for our listeners out there who are surely disheartened by this news?"_

_"I would advise everyone out there to remain vigilant, stay positive, and continue doing what you're doing. Whether it's placing protective wards on your Muggle neighbors or discrediting Ministry propaganda or participating in these broadcasts to disseminate the truth, we are all in this together and we are striving for the Light. So keep fighting, keep believing in the goodness of our cause and keep the hope alive that we will one day rid our world of the evil known as Lord Voldemort."_

_"Well said, Royal. Very well said, indeed; thank you for joining us this evening," Lee said._

_"Of course."_

_"And with that, listeners, we come to the end of our broadcast," he stated. "As usual, we can't tell you when we'll be back on the air, but hopefully it'll be soon; the next password will be 'Cervus'. Stay safe and good night."_

The trio was quiet as the signal went out and the radio turned silent, each lost in their own thoughts as they contemplated the ramifications of what had been said.

The Ministry had fallen into Voldemort's hands; it seemed inconceivable. Despite the fact that they'd never had much confidence in the institution or its abilities, they'd never imagined it could fall in such a way and especially not under an ex-Auror like Rufus Scrimgeour. They knew very little about the man, nearly all of which was hearsay from Tonks, Moody and Shacklebolt, but he seemed to be an ardent supporter of Dumbledore and their cause and was vehemently against much of the blood purity trash spouted by certain segments of the wizarding community.

Hermione wondered what this meant for them; what it meant for their mission? Would Voldemort take control of Hogwarts next? Were their friends and family in danger at the school? How well could Dumbledore protect them now that the Ministry had fallen?

She could see her questions mirrored on the boy's faces; Ron's knees jiggled nervously and he kept glancing towards the tent opening while Harry's face held a furious and determined expression as he continued glaring at the now-silent radio. As though sensing her eyes on him, he tipped his face to the side and met her gaze, emerald eyes fierce and angry.

"We have to do something," he said. "We have to make some kind of progress. Soon."

"I know," she replied, giving a slow nod her head.


	4. Constant Vigilance

**A/N You guys are awesome! I may not get to reply to every review, but they are all read and MUCH appreciated! **

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**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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**Chapter 4: Constant Vigilance**

Albus Dumbledore gazed out his high headmaster office window; Hogwarts' grounds were dark and quiet that time of night, the children safely ensconced in their dorms, the teachers retired to their chambers or on various duties throughout the castle. The brisk autumn wind rustled through the high, dense forest beyond, the woods seeming at once reassuring and unnerving when one thought of the dangers that forest held. The waters of the Lake lapped and rippled against the shore and Dumbledore smiled as he caught sight of Hagrid strolling about the grounds with his hound trotting faithfully behind him.

The headmaster absentmindedly stroked his long, white beard as he thought on the three children, wondering again where they were, how they were faring, whether they'd heard of the Ministry's fall and how they were coping with said knowledge. He was pleased to note that there had been no word on them; none of his sources had mentioned any word or rumors surrounding the trio and their whereabouts. That was a sure-fire blessing; he had been sincere in telling Severus that the children were safest if no one knew of their location. It was knowledge he, himself, did not want and he had cautioned Harry many times over the previous year to remain out of sight and away from villages and towns.

His Floo suddenly flared to life behind him and Dumbledore turned from his post at the window to see Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody emerged in quick, efficient succession. They moved into the room just as the fireplace flared a fourth time and Nymphadora Tonks stepped out, tripping over the edge of the carpet as she did so. She bumped one of the chairs as she tried to right herself, apologizing sheepishly as she moved into the room and stood beside her mentor.

"Albus," Moody's gravelly voice growled in greeting, echoed by the other three.

"Alastor, Arthur, Kingsley, Nymphadora," he greeted in return, gesturing to the seats before his desk. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Sit, sit, please."

Dumbledore took his seat, conjuring a tea service as he waited for the four to make themselves comfortable. He set tea cups going, the pot obediently pouring in the fresh Earl Grey followed by the milk and sugar as each cup was made to the wizard's specification.

"I trust there were no issues in coming here," he asked, leaning back into his chair with his own cup.

"None at all," Kingsley replied. "We Apparated to the Burrow and Floo'd from there." Arthur nodded in concurrence as he took a sip of tea.

"Well done." The headmaster gave a nod as he conjured a plate of scones and biscuits, floating it over to the small table set before the four chairs. "How are things at the Ministry?"

"Not well," Arthur replied with a slight grimace. "The paranoia is astounding. It seems you can't move anywhere in the building without feeling as though a thousand eyes were tracking your every movement."

"Most likely because there are," Moody growled, his magical eye spinning agitatedly in its socket. "The Magical Law Enforcement department has fallen under Yaxley's purview and a more paranoid wizard never existed."

Arthur glanced at the ex-Auror beside him, lips quirking at the irony of Mad-eye Moody calling someone paranoid; but he made no comment, simply nodding his head in agreement.

"The good news is," Kingsley added, "that Travers was placed in charge of the Improper Use of Magic office and he's fairly incompetent. There's no indication that they made any headway in locating the boy via the Trace."

"It hardly matters anymore," Dumbledore replied. "The Trace has broken and I'm certain we would have heard of it if Tom had had any success in that regard." The foursome nodded their heads in agreement, Arthur again feeling that sharp sense of relief that his son - more than likely - remained safe, wherever he was.

"And what of your posts?" the headmaster continued. "Any indication you may be relieved of them at some point?"

Arthur shook his head as he answered, "There have been no signs that my position is in trouble. They seem to be keeping a close eye on me and I'm fairly certain the family has been listed as '_blood traitors_', but I have no history in combat and my participation in the first war was never recorded, at least not to my knowledge, so I don't believe I'm seen as any sort of actual threat." Dumbledore nodded at that and turned to his Aurors.

Nymphadora shrugged, the act sending her tea spilling onto her lap. She magicked it away with a smile and said, "I'm fairly low on the totem pole so I doubt they've even noticed me."

"And I've not held a position at the Ministry in some time," Moody added, "though my frequent presence there might be called into question at some point."

"And you?" Dumbledore asked, turning to Kingsley.

The dark wizard gave a small smile. "I do believe I'm under their radar. None of the Dark Lord's men have approached me or confronted me, but I believe they are certain of where my true loyalties are and I expect they're keeping an eye on me."

"Or several," Moody supplied, his magical eye spinning again.

"Hm," the headmaster mused. "Well, I suggest you all continue to do what you have been doing and make no overt changes to your routines, at least not until - or unless - some move is made against you. We need as many allies within the Ministry as we can and it will not do for any of you to be dismissed or for you to be banished, Alastor," he added with a nod towards the ex-Auror. "However, I do need for you all to be extra vigilant and alert when within the Ministry's walls; remain covert, of course, but do try to linger whenever it is possible for you to do so."

"Why's that?" Arthur asked.

Dumbledore turned to him, smiling reassuringly at the wizard's worried expression. "I expect Harry and his friends will be executing a mission at the Ministry sometime soon and I would like as many of you there as possible when it happens."

"What mission?" Nymphadora asked.

"I'm afraid I cannot say."

"When will it happen?" Kingsley inquired.

"I cannot answer that either, I'm afraid."

The foursome grumbled at that, Nymphadora's hair turning a dull, mousy brown in her disappointment. Arthur jiggled his knees in agitation and set the cup down on the desk before him.

"If we know when it will happen," he began in a reasoned tone, "we can better ensure that we're there for it."

"How do you expect us to help if we are not informed of what they will be up to?" Kingsley added.

"I trust that you will instinctively know how best to help them when, and if, you come across them."

"You have quite a bit of faith in those children, Albus," Moody growled, his features twisted into a sneer.

"We must all have faith in them," Dumbledore replied neutrally, replacing his tea cup on the tray before him.

"How will they even gain access to the Ministry?" Kingsley asked. "All the entrances are heavily monitored."

"They will think of some way, I'm sure of it."

"Will you be telling them of this 'way'?" Moody pressed.

"I will provide suggestions," the headmaster replied evasively.

"Your secrecy is aggravating, Albus," Mad-eye answered in a low tone.

"I apologize. But I simply cannot say much more than I already have."

"And what about Remus?" Moody responded with another growl. "What about his 'secret' mission to Merlin-knows-where? You cannot speak of that either?"

The headmaster turned a slightly warning look to him as he replied with a simple, "No, I cannot." The ex-Auror grumbled to himself, leaning back into his seat with arms crossed and said nothing further.

"But this is madness," Arthur said imploringly, returning to the topic at hand. "They're just children."

"They are no longer children, Arthur," the old wizard replied in a sad tone, "nor have they been for some time."

"You know what I mean," he argued. "That's my son out there, _my son_." He placed a hand on his chest over his heart. "If there is a way to make this mission of theirs more successful or safer, in _any way_, then I need to know of it."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Truly, I am; but I myself will not know of the precise time and manner of their mission. It is safer this way, I assure you."

"You are given them far too much freedom to act," Kingsley noted with a shake of his head. "They are not warriors, Albus; Arthur is right, they are children, untried and untrained."

"Harry and his friends have been fighting Tom and his forces for several years now; you persist in underestimating them, in thinking them nothing more than children, but I have faith that they will devise a mission with as much of a chance for success as any of us could conceive of. What I need is for you to spend as much time as possible, without arousing suspicion, in the Ministry so as to aid them in any manner needed should you come across them; that is all," he finished with a note of finality, indicating that the topic was no longer open for discussion.

The foursome said no more, merely affirmed their cooperation and vowing to remain vigilant and present in the Ministry as much as possible. Dumbledore thanked them, though his tone was subdued and distant, but wished them well as they took their leave, the Floo giving successive flares as the Order members vacated his office.

The headmaster gave a sigh, pulling open a drawer of his large, oak desk and retrieving a small, leather pouch. He reached across his desk, taking the rolled-up bundle in hand and pushing it through the open neck of the pouch. Pulling the drawstring tightly closed, Dumbledore moved towards Fawkes who sat serenely on his perch. He offered the package to the phoenix, stroking the bird's feathers with his good hand as it grasped the pouch firmly in its beak.

"You know where to go, my friend," he said, giving Fawkes one last pat on the back as he spread his wings and took off out the open window and into the night sky.


End file.
